


Don't Look Back in Anger

by charlotteschaos



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crossdressing Kink, Humor, M/M, Post-War, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2014-12-23
Packaged: 2018-03-03 00:24:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2831411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlotteschaos/pseuds/charlotteschaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone knew from the start that Harry Potter needed therapy. No one expected that Draco Malfoy would be the one to give it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Look Back in Anger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mizBean](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mizBean/gifts).



Harry stepped into the therapist's office, feeling more uncertain than frightened. The first thing he noticed was the giant plate glass windows that looked out onto a cheery scene as if they weren't several feet underground. It didn't even look like London, it was so bright and yet, it was autumn, in spite of the fact that up top it was a rather torridly hot summer. Immediately, he was suspicious that this was the start of psychological warfare and he steadied himself in staunch readiness to defend his own mind.

All of that determination died when he turned to see a young blond man with steel grey eyes and a pale, pointed face hunched over a file. He was already making notes and even though he hadn't spoken, Harry could hear that derisive drawl.

Malfoy.

"What are _you_ doing here?" asked Harry. He dropped into the surprisingly tasteful leather couch, finding the room set up like any clich therapist's office with stock plant in the corner and an arm chair for the therapist to sit in while counseling. If Harry hadn't hated the idea of therapy before now he downright loathed it.

If Draco recognised Harry, he didn't show it, at least at first. He gave him a blank look and then peered around the office and then back to Harry. "This is my office. It's where I work. Do you know where you are, Mr...." he paused and Harry just knew it was for dramatic effect. "Potter?"

"Yes, I know where I am. But you're an evil git, not a therapist!" said Harry, glaring.

Again, Draco affected innocent indifference and looked up at the myriad degrees and certifications on his wall just behind him-- all loudly proclaimed his name in varying scrawls. "I'm not?"

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Harry snapped, sitting on the edge of the couch, eyeing the door.

Calmly, Draco picked up his folder and quill and moved to his white therapist chair and took a seat, carefully arranging his nondescript slate grey robe over his crossed legs. Harry noted how the robes were buttoned up all the way to Draco's pale throat and he sat up very straight in his chair looking fussy and aristocratic. If he hadn't already reason enough to hate him, just his posture was enough to send Harry into paroxysms of antipathy.

"It's not a bad thing for a man to take pleasure in his work, is it, Mr Potter? Isn't that why you became an... " Draco checked his file as if he needed to and Harry wanted nothing more than to punch that prat's fake smile off of his face, "Auror?"

"Yes."

Draco raised his brows at the answer and started scribbling with his quill.

"I mean, no!" said Harry. He leaned forward and squinted to see what Draco was writing.

"You don't like your job?" asked Draco. He looked up at him blankly for a moment and then returned to writing.

"No! I mean... yes! I mean... what are you writing? Stop that!" said Harry as he jumped up. Much to his surprise, he found himself sitting again at a flicked gesture from Draco's hand. "Hey!"

"I'm going to have to ask you to remain seated, Mr Potter. I've reports here that you are overaggressive, so I'm sure you understand." Draco looked up at Harry with a sneer so malicious that whatever doubt that might've crept into Harry's mind that Draco might actually have had his memory wiped vanished. He was enjoying this. Clearly.

"You can't keep me here!" Harry protested.

"No, indeed, I cannot. The door is always open for you to leave." Draco gestured to the door with his quill and then made more notes.

"You know I can't leave," huffed Harry as he crossed his arms.

"Why is that?" asked Draco. He tilted his head to the side, eyeing Harry like a hungry bird after a particularly plump worm. Harry wanted to break his beak.

"Because the Ministry said I get therapy or it's my job," snapped Harry. "But they didn't say that it would be therapy given by a Death Eater!"

"The war is over, Mr Potter. Are you still fighting it?"

"I'm still rounding up your friends and putting them where they belong, if that's what you're asking!" Harry shot back. He _hated_ how calm Draco was and how it made him feel increasingly agitated. Further, he hated how he kept calling him Mr Potter, as if somehow the genteel formality of how he was addressing Harry made him seem professional. Harry bet he was doing it just to irk him. It was working.

"Am I your enemy, Mr Potter?" he asked, not even blinking at Harry's words.

"What does that mean?" Harry looked around the room again. Maybe this was what going crazy felt like. Draco Malfoy brought Death Eaters into Hogwart's Castle. No matter what happened after that, he was guilty of that much. "How are you here?"

"I am an accredited psychologist, Mr Potter. That is how I am here."

"Yeah, I see that. But... you were..."

"Yes, well, as it turned out, I didn't make for a terribly good warrior, as I held too much empathy to be an efficient killer. In other words, I was entirely too mentally stable to be a Death Eater, so I turned myself in early on in the war. I was to be convicted of the crimes I did manage to accomplish, but was instead let out into work release on the contingency that I do something productive for Wizarding society. As it would happen, war leaves many witches and wizards in need of counseling. They cannot go to Muggle therapists, as they would be hospitalized for delusions were they to speak of what happened to them. So, in the dearth of qualified candidates, I was given the option to become educated at my own expense in lieu of Azkaban."

During his speech, Draco Summoned a glass of water to his side, letting it sit on the coffee table in front of him that ran alongside the leather couch.

Each time Harry moved, it squeaked, sounding unpleasantly like a fart. Though Draco's expression never changed, Harry just knew he was laughing at his plight and tried to remain perfectly still. "So they let you, a former Death Eater, counsel veterans. That doesn't make any sense."

Draco waved his hand and shrugged. "That's governmental thinking for you. So, now that that is out of the way, let's talk about your childhood."

"I don't want to talk about my childhood." Harry could only imagine what Draco would say about it; probably use the opportunity to say something horrid about Muggles. Not that he could really defend the Dursleys.

"You grew up in a cupboard, hm?" said Draco, after consulting his files. As if he had to. Everyone knew that.

"Yes. I grew up in a cupboard. Raised by mean Muggles who made me do the cleaning and washing, with a cousin who took out whatever anger he had from being coddled and babied out on me. You'd like him. I bet you two would have loads in common," snapped Harry.

Draco raised a brow. "Oh, I see. So his family was later imprisoned and he was forced into the service of a megalomaniac?"

"Er, no. Actually, he got some girl up the duff and was forced to marry and now he sells shoes." Harry frowned that his comparison was so quickly defeated. But it had been apt at the time!

"Oh well, then. By all means, give him my card. I do enjoy shoes." Draco perked a brow and made another long notation and Harry started to feel like his chances of continuous employment were shrinking by the second.

"I just meant that... you were really spoilt and he was..."

"I got that, Mr Potter. Thank you. So it's fair to say that you didn't get enough hugs as a child?"

Suddenly, Harry was reminded of Rita Skeeter and her story-telling and he just knew that this wasn't going to end well, no matter what he said. "I suppose you could say that," he answered, his tone defeated. Harry slumped back against the couch, ignoring the sound the leather made.

Draco eyed Harry, his stare as calculating as it had ever been. Harry was surprised to see he didn't appear particularly happy, especially when he should be dancing in the streets at the power he had over him. "Let's move on then. You'd no idea you were a wizard, correct?"

"No, not until I got my letter, which Hagrid had to hand-deliver on my birthday." Harry smiled slightly at the memory. The Dursleys had been so afraid, and it was his first-ever birthday cake.

"So, an older man you've never heard of shows up on your eleventh birthday with an umbrella wand and you're willing to go off with him?" asked Draco as the quill scritched against the parchment.

"Yeah, sure. Why not?" Harry brought his arms over his head. He didn't even want to know what Draco was going to make of that-- probably something hideous and Freudian. He was so fired.

"Yes, I suppose as opposed to the abuse you were already receiving, you'd little to lose, yeah?"

Harry saw Draco evaluating him again when he peeked from under his arms. He sighed. "I didn't really think of it in those terms. I just wanted to do magic."

"Of course you did. It's a glorious tradition!"

"And things had happened before that made me think maybe I did have magic. There were people in robes before that had thanked me. I guess I sort of knew that there was something strange going on," said Harry, sitting up again, encouraged that he was making a point, finally.

"Yes, then you made your first friend on the train, correct?"

"Yes! Ron Weasley, my first friend." Harry grinned just thinking about Ron and how he'd found someone who accepted him so quickly, unlike... He looked up at Draco who appeared to far too eager to talk about this.

"You bonded with him quickly, didn't you? Turning down offers of friendship subsequent to your meeting?"

 _Crap_. "Yes. Although the offer of friendship came from someone who was a right evil little git..."

"And why would you have done that?"

"Turned down the friendship of a git? Seems like the smart thing to do, don't you think?" asked Harry smugly.

"I mean, you formed your attachments rather quickly. Made quite snap judgments and stuck to them." Draco leaned closer, looking almost fiendish. He wasn't even looking at what he was writing and Harry didn't think that was a good sign.

"I was right."

Draco made an "oh really?" face, his brows up and his lips slightly parted and his head cocked so that his features caught the light, making him appear sharp and chiseled from marble. "On what basis did you strike up a conversation with him?"

"Pardon?"

"What drew you to Ronald Weasley?"

That was a weird way of putting it, but Harry shrugged and rolled his eyes. "I don't know. He was dressed more like me, I guess."

"Shabbily?" asked Draco as he shifted his neat, but plain robes.

"Yeah, I guess." He had no idea where this was going, and he wasn't sure he wanted to.

"Good job you didn't meet with a hobo on the way. You might've turned from being The Chosen One to be a panhandler."

Harry couldn't help it. He just laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, if only I'd known I had such glorious career choices at the time!"

"This is not a laughing matter, Mr Potter. I'm attempting to assess you." Draco set his quill down and glared at Harry.

"You are not. You've already made up your mind about me!" Harry snapped.

"Like you made your mind up about me after knowing me for ten minutes in a robe shop to turn me down on the train?" Draco countered, his face clear and impassive, pale lips in a thin line.

"Difference is that I was right." Harry sat back, folding his arms.

Draco held up his note pad, in which he'd written in bold, scratched letters, "SELF-RIGHTEOUS NARCISSIST."

For a moment, it was hard not to laugh again, but it was pretty clear that Draco was serious about this. Harry stared up at the wall of certifications and then looked directly at Draco and said, "I'm sure that with all of your _training_ , you'll be familiar with the concept of _projection_."

"Mr Potter," said Draco smoothly, although his face showed the strain of his irritation. "Your histrionic behavior and constant bids for attention--"

"I never bid for attention! I never wanted any of this! Why, oh why is that so hard for everyone to believe?" Harry roared as he leapt up, a bit surprised not to be pushed down again.

"-- accompanied with the lack of proper trust attachments provided to you in the developmental stage of your childhood--"

Harry lumbered for the door. He didn't have to listen to this. He _wasn't going to listen to this_.

"-- have left you with significant trust issues that have led to your problems with interpersonal relationships, crippling your ability to see clearly--"

The door slammed in Harry's face and he whirled around to fly at Draco, who sat calmly in his chair, sneering.

"No," Harry snapped, balling his hands and shoving them in his pockets. "No. I do _not_ have trust issues. I did not try to get attention. I was targeted by Voldemort." He was pleased that the name still made Draco flinch.

"Crippling your ability to see clearly the damage to your self-esteem that those you did attach yourself to did," Draco finished, smoothing his robe down as if that would take away his reaction to Voldemort's name.

"What does _that_ mean?" asked Harry. He tried to think how anyone damaged his self-esteem and all he could think of were Draco's repeated and lame attempts to make him look like an idiot that usually worked against Draco himself.

"I mean your sudden attachment to Ronald Weasley and the ways that he made you feel guilty over what few advantages you had." Draco picked up his pad again and started to scribble on it.

Harry racked his brain for what Draco could possibly be on about and then said, "What, over money?"

"He was jealous of you having money?"

Sighing, Harry shrugged. "Well, yes. I guess. I had to hide it from him. He... just didn't like seeing me spending money."

"And where did you get this money?" asked Draco as he looked back up at Harry.

"My parents left it to me," responded Harry. He shifted uneasily to one leg. He had no idea where this was going, which made him even more suspicious as to what the result was likely to be.

"Right. So, in the absence of your parents, you had money eventually. And though he grew up in a loving environment with family and friends, whilst you were suffering in a cupboard, he begrudged you the money left to you by your parents who died tragically?"

"Erm..." Furrowing his brows, he didn't really know what to say to that. "Look, we were really young. I'm sure he didn't think it through that way."

"So you excuse his lack of empathy?" asked Draco, his grey eyes near-unblinking.

"We were kids."

"Was anyone else bothered with your having money?"

"No one else was my best mate!" protested Harry.

"So you chose the one person who didn't approve of you to be your best mate?"

"Oh Malfoy, loads of people didn't approve of me." Harry realized how exaggerated his gestures were getting as he flailed almost helplessly in the face of Draco's jaded logic.

"So the other Weasleys, they disapproved of your _inherited_ wealth?"

"No! The twins took money from me to start their store!" said Harry, crossing his arms to stop the gesturing. Also, he felt a bit smug that there were Weasleys that didn't mind his wealth at all.

"The twins who... experimented on fellow classmates? Who assaulted Montague and left him magic addled? Who vandalized Hogwarts castle?" asked Draco as he started writing frantically on his pad. "They took money from you that they never repaid?"

"You're twisting it all around! They're not... vandals! They're funny!" said Harry. Now he really _was_ feeling crazy. Had they ever paid him back? He'd made sure no one else would know about that debt because of Ron, and he hadn't wanted the money back. But put that way, it did sound like he was taken advantage of.

"Oh yes, nothing more hilarious than addling a young man with an otherwise bright future, is there? I should write that down. I'm told I can be a bit cold and lack a sense of humor. Perhaps if I tormented a few more people I could be just as funny as Weasleys." Draco sneered as he underlined whatever it was he was writing.

"That's it. I've had enough of this. This session is--"

The buzzer went off and Draco looked up and grinned. "Over. I'll see you next week, Mr Potter."

"Don't count on it. I'm reporting you!" Harry shouted, almost as angry that he was being dismissed instead of thrown out as he was over Draco's assertions about his friends.

The door swung open behind Harry and he wheeled around to leave only to hear shouted out after him, "Do try not to form any sudden attachments in the next week and be prepared to talk about Sirius Black and your homosexual urges."

"What?" Harry was past the threshold, but spun to confront Draco on what he'd just said, only to get the door in his face. He slammed his fist against it, which hurt him more than it did the door. He wrung his hand out and glared at Draco's scraggly haired receptionist who handed him a card with his appointment for the next week on it. "I'm _not_ coming back!"

"Of course not, sir. Have a nice day!"

Before Harry could respond, he was shuffled completely out of the office and he found himself in a Ministry corridor heading towards the lift. Fine then, Draco wanted to play that way, Harry would just be better prepared for therapy the next week.

\--

After downing several vials of the Draught of Peace, Harry thought he was about ready for therapy. Consultations with Kingsley told him that there was no way around Harry getting therapy. He had simply been too aggressive in his pursuit of justice too many times and he was going to have to make do with three months of weekly therapy unless his therapist deemed him well before that time. He could only see a new therapist if the old one signed off on it and Harry couldn't imagine Draco giving up this weekly torment. So, he would just find a way to get through it. Drugs sounded like as good an answer as any.

The office was the same as it had been, still autumn outside, the same leaves falling from the same trees. Somehow, it didn't seem quite sane to enjoy the same view day after day, but Harry wasn't about to ask about it. He was sure Draco would find a way to declare him even less sane. He was just going to answer the questions and ignore the assumptions and assessments. Three months. Twelve sessions, one of which was complete. Ten more after this.

Draco took his seat in his therapist's chair and Harry stared at the gleaming hardwood floor. For a moment, Draco's ankle interrupted his view and Harry could've sworn he saw a flash of fishnet. But as he blinked and looked up at Draco, the man had tugged his robes to cover his foot again. Fishnets? No. Surely it was a trouser sock his overly-peaceful mind misinterpreted. But then when he glanced from covered foot to his face, Draco was blushing.

"Are you blus--" Harry started.

"Let's talk about Sirius Black," drawled Draco, as if his nasally intonation could save face.

Harry knew that Draco was most definitely blushing and while part of him was fascinated to know the reason, given their last visit and the perspectives Draco had given on people close to him, his stomach was already knotting up with the tension of what on God's green earth Draco was going to say about Sirius. He was so glad of his peace potions, without which he might be already cracking his knuckles. While he wasn't entirely certain of the actual laws on the books, he was pretty sure that if you were in work-mandated therapy for being too violent, assaulting your therapist was Very Bad.

"He's dead," said Harry, figuring that would end that.

"Yes, but before that, how did you feel about him?" asked Draco. With his head tilted to the side, his silvery hair barely touched the shoulder of his industrial blue robe. There was something austere about Draco's face, always had been in spite of how emotional the prat could get. His features could've softened-- Harry had seen it a few times-- but at the moment, he looked like little other than an interested predator.

Even twelve vials of the Draught of Peace couldn't have made this any less daunting. "He was my godfather. I don't know. I guess I loved him? I thought I'd get to move in with him and not have to go back to the Dursley's and maybe I'd have a normal, happy family life?"

"With an ex-convict?"

"He was _innocent_ ," said Harry a bit more assertively than he meant to.

"Right, but still, Azkaban isn't a day spa. He was there for much of his life, barely beyond being a child when he was sentenced. Much of the time where he would have spent learning how to develop adult relationships was spent elsewhere, not to mention that he was surrounded by Dementors. He wasn't exactly the most qualified man to handle an abused teen. Well, other than probably _handling_ an abused teen would've been right up his alley." It was said so conversationally that Harry had to do a double-take on what Draco had just said to catch it.

"Excuse me?" he said, sitting up and glaring at Draco.

"Well, no doubt that in his own mind, that decade plus that was stolen from him left him of a mindset of a teenager. That with the sexual dysfunctions that are likely to develop with extended exposure to Dementors... well; surely you've more to add to it. He lavished you with expensive gifts, left everything to you. Was that in return for your affections?" Draco scratched a few words down but otherwise looked at Harry with his face blank but interested the portrait of affected care.

"Expensive gifts?" asked Harry as he shoved his hands into his pockets to keep from punching Draco in the face. That face. So pointy and pale and nearly flawless. It would've looked better with a livid bruise on his high cheekbone or with an added bump in his long nose from having it broken. Harry reached up to slide his finger over his own nose, remembering the hard crunch of Draco stomping it. It would be justice, wouldn't it?

"Yes, he sent you a Firebolt. It is common for paedophiles to groom their intended victims, appearing as their friend, lavishing attention and gifts upon them. While to others they might be sulky and terse, to their intended the world is always bright. They often give over inappropriate information, trying to convince others that the child is equipped to deal with situations far beyond their years. In return, the child feels understood and is left believing that they're being entrusted with something special. It's what can make it so confusing for a troubled teen to recognize the signs, what with being on the cusp of adulthood." Draco sat back as Harry lurched forward.

Harry didn't swing, but he wanted to. He wanted to put his hand _through_ Draco's face for saying that about Sirius-- half for the implication and half for it somehow ringing true. "You're sick. It wasn't like that. It was _nothing_ like what you say."

"Of course not," said Draco as he wrote frantically, his eyes widening in obvious excitement with what he was writing. "That's why you're so emotional about it in spite of the Draught of Peace."

"What?" Harry froze.

"I can smell it. It won't work, Harry. It's only going to impede your progress." Draco's voice was quite calm, and he glanced at Harry over his pad to say, "I won't note it in your file, but do not arrive at therapy under the influence again. I could have your badge for this."

"Aren't you... don't you... aren't you required to report it?" asked Harry. He didn't really think about it, but he wasn't to be on any non-prescribed mood altering potions while on duty. He didn't consider therapy being on duty, but evidently it was.

"Yes. I am. But I won't." He paused again and leaned forward to look into Harry's eyes. He was so close now that Harry could smell the faint scent of lavender as his flinty grey eyes searched Harry's face. "But I could."

Draco remained there for a moment more and then sat back in his chair. The back and forth movement jostled his robes again and Harry found himself staring at the grid pattern on Draco's ankle, wondering why, now that Draco had him right in his sights, he wasn't doing anything about it. That thought flitted away with the realization that yes, those were fishnets. Not trouser socks. Not a trick of the light or potion. Fishnets on Draco's very pale, rather thin ankle. Again the robe came down over his foot and Harry looked away, getting the distinct impression that saying something about that might be impolitic, as much as he wanted to.

"Have you come out to any of your friends?" asked Draco.

The question broke a rather long silence and Harry nearly jumped at the abrupt directness of it. "Come out? With... come out with what?"

"Have you told anyone that you've homosexual urges?"

At first, Harry just laughed and shook his head. He pulled off his glasses and pinched his brow, waiting for Draco to serve up a punchline. "You're serious?"

Draco nodded and set his pad onto his desk, away from Harry's vision but also away from his note-taking.

"I haven't told anyone that because it isn't true," said Harry simply before rubbing his palms into his eyes. "I've had several girlfriends, even you know that."

"Yes. I know about Cho Chang and Ginevra Weasley," said Draco, his voice was actually a bit softer, but when Harry looked up at his blurry face, he didn't seem any less predatory.

"Right, well, Cho hardly counts. But Ginny... was actually my girlfriend, so... there you go." Harry pushed his glasses back on after cleaning them on his robe.

"Yes, that was the year you were following me around, correct? Every time I turned around, you were there. Stalking." Draco crossed his legs again, which brought the hem of his robe up, making Harry excessively pleased that he'd managed to put his glasses on again so he could see for certain that even up to Draco's calf, there was that dark black webbing encasing Draco's leg. Though Harry had never really considered shoes, much less the sex of shoes, somehow the long, elegant point of Draco's leather shoes were androgynous. Even with a slight heel they were somehow too masculine in line to be feminine.

"It wasn't because I was attracted to you, Malfoy. I just knew you were up to something, is all." Yet, he couldn't quite tear his eyes away from Draco's leg, wondering if he was wearing stockings, if there was a belt keeping them up. Maybe this was just one of his therapist tricks. Maybe he wanted to convince the Ministry that Harry was a homosexual to... Not that there was an actual law against it, because as big a throwback society wizards were, they weren't quite so lack-witted to find anything particularly right or wrong with sexual preferences or skin color. They left that to the religion-based societies and their weird views.

"Why didn't you simply report me, then? Surely you had better things to do with Ginevra Weasley. Following me must've made seducing her difficult." Draco pushed his robes down again, taking away the vision, forcing Harry to look up into his eyes.

His face was no less ferrety and no less severe, but his expression was softened with curiosity, as if he'd been carrying this question for years, which likely he had. And which likely he was going to have to continue to do.

"I don't know, really. I guess I thought I needed proof you were actually up to something."

"I was out after curfew."

"So was I," Harry pointed out.

"True enough, but it would've given them reason to look at me, to watch me. But you didn't want them to watch me, did you? You wanted to do it yourself." Draco sat back in his chair, his head tilted again, but far less predatory and more questioning.

Questions that maybe he deserved answers to, but answers that Harry just didn't have. "I wanted to catch you at something. I don't know what to say."

Draco watched him for a moment longer and then his eyes dropped, caught in some strange reverie. His face seemed to attract shadow and Harry wished he'd been a better Legilimens to know what was running through Draco's mind. Soon enough, the spell was broken and Draco's intense gaze was back. "So what happened with Ginevra?"

Harry remembered how Draco had to flee, how he hadn't been around to catch how that ended. He was surprised to find out that he'd paid it any attention at all now that he knew what was going on. He wasn't sure how he felt about the idea that Draco knew, but then in school, Draco always seemed to know everyone's secrets. "I broke it off with her."

"Why did you do that? You seemed rather happy together."

Though he continued to stare at Draco, his expression was as incalculable as it ever was. His voice sounded tinged with sadness, but Harry wasn't sure if he was projecting that onto him or not. "I was concerned for her safety if they thought we were together. Also... I wasn't sure if I was going to live and as you pointed out with Cho... I remember how Cedric's death affected her and I didn't want her to be that miserable."

"That was thoughtful of you," said Draco, his voice barely above a whisper.

"She didn't seem to think so." Harry wanted to know what was causing the change in Draco, but he was too immobilized with fear and doubt to ask. He'd feel like an idiot for asking if Draco snapped and turned it around on him, which would be just like him to do.

"You didn't go back to her after the war," said Draco. He turned to look at his pad and then back to Harry.

"No. I didn't." After a long silence which Harry took for Draco's prompting to go on, Harry said, "Sometimes between two people, I guess there is a time and a place for things to work and they just... didn't happen when they should have, I guess."

"And she married Longbottom."

"That too." Harry carded his hand through his hair. As bad as it sounded to return a war hero only to have your previous girlfriend engaged to someone else, Harry had been mostly relieved. Not that she wasn't a beautiful woman and caring, he just couldn't see it going beyond their sunlit days. Not after what he'd seen. They were two such different people after those months.

"It's for the best," said Draco as he pulled his pad back into his lap to scratch notes on it. "Terribly Oedipal, that relationship."

"Excuse me?" The softness had left the room and Harry felt bewildered with the sudden drop in temperature.

"Popular redhead all the boys wanted... sounds like what your mum was." Draco made notes, but somehow he didn't appear to be nearly as gleeful about it and Harry found that it made him sad, too. Harry wondered how Draco knew his mum was popular, but then, Draco seemed to know loads of things when they were in school, always popping up with odd facts and knowledge of what was going on that Harry wouldn't figure out for days or weeks.

"Yeah, well, maybe redheads are just popular?" said Harry, shrugging. "I didn't end up with her, so maybe that's the one diagnosis you can't make stick?"

Draco grinned at his pad. "Alas. I'm sure I'll find something even juicier soon enough."

It was a real grin, or so Harry thought. It lit up Draco's face and it occurred to him that he hadn't seen him actually smile before. Sure, he would smirk or sneer or grin derisively, but he seemed at least somewhat truly amused. He wondered why it made him happy when at the start of the session he wanted nothing more than to hit Draco, but then again, this was the most talking he'd done since Hogwarts and he had to give Draco credit, he did get him speaking. "And if not, I'm sure you'll make something up."

"I would never do that, Mr Potter," said Draco as he looked up. The bell chimed to end their session and Harry stood. "One quick question, though."

"Yes?"

"Have you seen anyone since Ginevra?"

Harry nodded. "Luna Lovegood. Just a few dates."

"Does she love good?" asked Draco, smirk in place.

"I wouldn't know, actually. She was quite distracted and we never really got to that."

"Ah, pity," said Draco as he stood to see Harry out.

"Yeah." But as Harry thought about it, he really hadn't been that disappointed that nothing happened. Maybe he should've been, but he wasn't.

"Next week, then?"

Harry nodded and took the card from Draco's receptionist.

\--

The next few sessions actually went rather well. Or at least they seemed much more conventional than the first and the start of the second. Harry just talked about his life, his fears, his dreams and found that Draco was a surprisingly good listener when he wasn't scratching notes down. On occasion, he would pin him down on a point and almost always they would talk about his anger.

Though Draco never brought up homosexuality again, Harry thought about it constantly. In fact, Draco and his flashes of fishnet seemed to haunt most of his empty thoughts, filling him with a drive he hadn't really felt since sixth year. It was nice to have something to obsess over again. As brilliant as being an Auror was, rarely did he have much outside of disturbances to deal with. There were no mysteries to occupy his mind for longer than a week or two.

Draco Malfoy was an ongoing mystery, and one that no matter how much they talked, he still found just as strange and intriguing. Perhaps that was the point. Draco wasn't meant to talk about himself in Harry's therapy sessions, but when he did answer the few questions Harry drudged up the nerve to ask, he gave straight and blunt answers. The information was never quite enough to sate Harry's curiosity.

It was always on the tip of his tongue to ask about the fishnets, but he could never bring himself to be that bold. That Harry Potter, the boy who was so brave, was too scared to ask about something so simple struck him as ironic to the point of silly, but there it was. He couldn't do it any more than he could ever admit to Draco how he had permeated his dreams and his thoughts as much as he once had, although this time his guest appearances featured him with significantly less clothing.

He bought books about dreams, which he thought was a sure sign of his desperation to sort things out. He'd never held to the idea of divination or dream interpretation in the past, but as it edged into his consciousness, he felt the need to own the books that proclaimed that dreaming of homosexual encounters didn't necessarily mean he was homosexual. They didn't say much about daydreams of the same ilk, however, which made it less comforting, and as the sessions progressed, he had to admit that there was something to the line of Draco's jaw, the way he spoke, how his head tilted that was once so bird-like and predatory that he found to be as charming as it was predictable. Harry learned quickly what to say to prompt Draco to want to ask more questions, what would make him lean forward as if he were on the cusp of discovering some greater truth.

Harry also learned what would draw Draco back, and how those movements led to the slow reveal of the prized fishnets. Sometimes, when he waited for his session, he would watch the man before him leaving, wondering if he saw the fishnets, if he knew all of the secrets of how to make Draco's robe ride up, if he even cared. He wondered if the woman who went in after him had ever thought Draco looked like a ferret. If he haunted her dreams. If she touched herself thinking about what he would feel like, what he would taste like, or even what he was really thinking behind that veil of professionalism that he wore like a shield to keep him from any real feelings, any real emotions.

His final day in therapy was circled in a bold red marker, once a lofty goal to reach, but now he found that he dreaded the end of it. He could continue the therapy, to see Draco once a week for an hour, to try and riddle him out, but the notion of needing it as a crutch wounded his pride. No, this was it. It would be his final day of therapy, and then, solved or not, the mystery of Draco would be filed away.

"Of course, you may always continue therapy. This slot is still open for the next few weeks, I believe," said Draco. He sat in his therapist's chair in blood red robes, the most regal and royal color Harry had ever seen him wear to the office. Normally he wore industrial and soothing colors of muted purple and corporate grey.

Harry shrugged and laughed nervously, staring at his knees. "Nah, I don't think I needed therapy to start with. When you're not pushing my buttons... I'm fine, right?"

Draco paused for a long time and exhaled. "I suppose that's one way to look at it."

"What? When I'm not being provoked, I'm not angry. That seems pretty normal to me," said Harry. He wondered if Draco was trying to goad him to try and get more therapy sessions recommended. He wasn't sure if he should object or go with it, if he was.

"When you're not being provoked, you're not thinking. You're not confronting. I shouldn't... have stopped confronting you. I don't think I've done much for you at all."

Draco's head dropped and Harry wondered what that was supposed to mean. "No, it was great once you stopped. I was looking forward to coming in, really. Brilliant. I talked about a lot, didn't I?"

"I let you prattle and ramble. I never made you confront the root of your anger," Draco admitted.

"But I haven't been angry. Really, you did a brilliant job, Malfoy. I feel... better, I guess." Harry wasn't sure how long that this feeling of peace was going to last once the therapy stopped. Having this to look forward to every week really had gotten him over some huge obstacles when he knew he would've thrown a wobbly otherwise. He could see the changes in himself, and it frustrated him that Draco didn't seem to see it.

"You've not admitted anything about your childhood..."

"I know it was bad, Malfoy. I'm not an idiot. I just don't see the point in rehashing it. I realize that... maybe I'm not the ideal man, but I'm not sure anyone is. I see that I was letting things get to me more than I should've. You've given me perspective, it was great, really." He leaned over and put his hand on Draco's arm and Draco snatched it back and eyed Harry suspiciously. "Sorry," said Harry.

"Nor have you admitted your attraction to men," said Draco. He set his arms pointedly back on his arm rest.

Harry wanted to deny it, thought maybe he should have denied it, but how could he? He was obviously attracted to Draco, although he wasn't sure if it was just his mystery or Draco himself. "I'm not attracted to men, in general."

"Whatever. You know you are. I don't know why you think there's a point to lying to me now. I've known it since the beginning."

"Oh really? How is that?" asked Harry. He didn't care for Draco's snippy tone any more than he had been at the start of their sessions. But he was trying to remind himself to remain calm.

"The way your eyes shift, how you eye me, the way you hunch over to hide your secret, allowing it to seethe inside of you. You fill your days with something else to fixate on so you never have to really be alone with yourself, so that you don't have to think too hard about who you are. I get it, really I do, Harry. I did the same thing once. I made myself and everyone around me miserable." Draco closed his eyes and gripped the arms of the chair tightly. "You're attracted to men, Harry. Whether you want to see it or not. I never would've reported that in my file. It's your business and not the Ministry's. But..."

"But nothing," said Harry. During the speech, he'd stuck his hands in his pockets, flexing his hands into fists. Clenching and unclenching as he felt that gut-rending feeling he'd had when Draco first started confronting him with these _truths_. It was easier to ignore then, somehow. Sure, he was arsed off before but now he felt flayed open. He'd trusted Draco, and now they were back to this. "I'm not a homosexual." An attraction to one man hardly counted. A book said.

Draco just looked sad when he turned to Harry. "All right. Perhaps you're right. I must've... lost objectivity."

"What does that mean?" asked Harry softly. He wanted to reach out to Draco, but the memory of his recoil and the inherent rejection in the move kept Harry at bay.

"It means... you weren't wrong when you say I project my problems on others, namely you. I'm working through it, but... perhaps I just wanted you to be a homosexual because I..." He sighed and smoothed his robes over his knees, making the fishnets vanish again under the brocade.

"Oh. Right. Well, I figured you were," said Harry, gesturing to Draco's legs.

"Mr Potter, cross-dressing does not make you gay any more than putting on a football kit makes you a professional player."

"Then why do you do it?" asked Harry, swallowing hard as he stared more intently at Draco's legs.

"Because I find stockings comfortable. Because they're my secret. I can wear knickers under my robes and one would know. They're my secret, my alter ego." Draco pulled his robe up to his knee. "None of my clients have noticed them, but in fairness to their abilities with observation, I often charm them so no one will see."

"But you let me," said Harry breathily as he gazed at Draco's bony legs covered in fishnets all the way to his knee. They weren't exactly shapely, but they were shaved and somehow... just what he'd always imagined Draco's legs to look like and in that sense, they were perfect. Harry slipped to the floor to drag his hands over them. His palms slid over the front of his leg and he cupped Draco's knees.

"They are soft, aren't they?" he asked, so heady with what he was doing, he could barely breathe. He wasn't sure he wanted to really breathe, lest it break the spell. It was as if time was standing completely still and he was left with nothing but this moment, this strange truth of what he really did want. It was a man that he wanted and that was all right.

Draco stared down at him, thin lips parted as he gasped for breath. He wasn't swatting Harry away, which was as promising a start as he could've hoped for.

Draco's knuckles turned white as he gripped the wood ends of the arm rests. He squirmed against the chair as Harry slid his hands up under his robes, feeling the line of the elastic tops of the stockings. He left his palms on the clasps and danced his fingers lightly over the soft skin of Draco's upper thighs. It was all he dared for the moment, finding Draco's skin incredibly responsive, goosing under his touch and remarkably soft.

Legs parting further for Harry, Draco rested back in the chair, his breathing loud and labored as Harry continued to explore him. Harry rested his head on Draco's knee and he gathered the fabric of the robe up, twisting it into a roll under his fingers to reveal Draco, spread legged in the seat with burgundy string lacy knickers. The tip of his prick had expanded over the scalloped lace elastic of the waistband and had already left a sticky trail of precome dotting his pale abdomen. Harry wanted to see it. He wanted to see all of it, but each time he let go of Draco's robes, they fell back to his thighs. "Hold your robe up for me."

With shaky hands, Draco complied and Harry grabbed under Draco's knees and hoisted them up over the arms of the chair, leaving him wide open, pale skin against dark red contrast, held up by Draco himself. Draco's body was nearly a blur of vibration. His muscles flexed and twitched with every touch and stroke of Harry's hands as he slowly worked up his nerve to slide his hand up the front panel of Draco's knickers till he had splayed his palm over Draco's prick.

Harry had never touched another man's cock before, he'd never really thought about doing it seriously. Or at least he'd never taken the thought of it very seriously. The lace was surprisingly soft and stretchy, making it easy to pull down and hook under Draco's balls. It left them jutting out, seeming awkward tucked under Draco's solid prick lying primed against his abdomen.

Draco hissed as Harry dragged his fingers over the erection and squirmed, although there wasn't far for him to go when he was spread out like this. Never had Harry ever looked so hard at another man's bits and the differences were surprisingly gripping. "And homosexuals... they.. bugger each other?"

It took a few moments for Draco to answer shakily, "Some do."

"Not all?" asked Harry as he pulled the knickers away to expose Draco's opening. It was surprisingly pink and clenched neatly in a ring of rippled muscle. Harry stroked his finger around the rim, considering the feel of it and the way it pulled tight with the attention. The middle was so dark and mysterious. He brought his finger to his mouth and sucked it.

"No, not all homosexual encounters involve penetration at all. Some very rarely even have sex," Draco breathed.

Harry looked up at his face as he pulled his finger from his mouth and pressed his finger inside of him. Draco's face flushed and his head fell against the cushion of the chair as he breathed through his teeth. "This one is going to," said Harry.

He watched Draco's Adam's apple bob with his hard swallow. He didn't protest, he didn't even move, just remained open for Harry to finger and play with. The only thing he did do was the fist his garment in one hand as he pulled his wand and cast a few charms, pointing his wand to his arse with Harry's fingers still in.

Something light and airy brushed past Harry's fingers and suddenly the pliable tunnel inside of Draco became slick, easily lubricated, but still with the intense, hot compression. Harry slid a second finger into him and then a third, fucking him slowly with them as his own cock throbbed in needy anticipation of being inside of that.

Harry hadn't done this before with anyone, let alone another man, but his body quaked with need for it. He stared at the still opened orifice as he quickly fussed out of his trousers, watching the skin go from the stretched white back to the flush of healthy pink to slightly red and irritated for its momentary opening.

Pumping his cock a few times to ensure it was hard enough to push into how tight Draco was, Harry stood again, crouching down so that he could lower his cock level with Draco's opening. He tried to aim his cock to slide into him, but missed the first couple of times, shoving his prick under Draco's thigh first, then along the crack of his arse. Finally, Draco reached for him and helped to guide him inside.

As Harry fed it to him, Draco made him stop a couple of times, pressing his hands against Harry's abdomen to pause, giving him time to adjust. Harry was sweating and impossibly excited by the time he was fully inside of Draco. He paused then for a moment, just looking at the strain on Draco's face, the way he held the expression as he pulled back and slid into him again. Harry moved his hands from the armrests to the top of the chair and back again, trying to find the best way to gain leverage in this position. He left his hands on the armrest in the end and teased in and out of him, just watching the way that Draco took it, took him.

Draco's eyes cracked open for a moment and they just stared at each other, neither with any words for this. Harry pumped into him, grunting with each thrust that brought him closer to getting off, determined to come inside of Draco, to leave him dripping with it for his next client. He wanted to leave him sore with fucking while he sat here talking to other people, to remember Harry. He kissed over the side of his face, finally catching Draco up in a sloppy kiss until he felt that final seizure, the last contractions of his body before he gave over to the need, pumping himself inside of Draco till he felt utterly dry, empty of his complete release.

Remaining inside of Draco, Harry panted against his neck and into the back of the therapist's chair. It took him a moment to figure out the frantic movement just beneath him was Draco's hand, desperately working his cock. Harry tried to reach for it, wanting to help. He curled his head down to watch the movement of Draco's hand, lazily following it with his own until he just gave up, watching for the few moments it took before Draco's cock spewed come onto his already tacky abdomen, leaving a glossy wet stream between his prick and his belly.

Harry just squeezed him, staring at it for a few moments before the chime rang, ending their session. There were few things Harry wanted to do less than to move now, but he had to go. A new client would come in any moment now.

Reluctantly, he pulled from Draco, watching the wince on his face as he did it. He tucked himself away quickly and zipped his trousers as Draco righted himself, smoothing his knickers back over him and his robes over his lap. At least that answered that.

Harry didn't know what to say now. It would be tacky to quip about therapy sessions, and he certainly wasn't going to pay Draco for sex.

"You should..." said Draco, gesturing to the door.

"Yeah. I should um... look, Malfoy, I'd like to..."

"No. No more therapy. Not after that. I can't... I shouldn't have... and..." Draco gestured as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

That made Harry smile, but only briefly. "I want to see you again. Not here, though... outside of here."

"That would be unprofessional," said Draco, shaking his head.

"Right, the rest of it was so very professional." Harry crossed his arms and eyed him.

"Are you saying if I don't go out with you, you'll report me?" asked Draco, his expression unreadable again, but Harry thought he saw a flicker of amusement.

"Sure. So... you have to see me Friday or... I'll tell the Ministry." Harry was pretty new to blackmail, but he thought maybe the idea of it appealed to Draco, given the way he was grinning.

"Then I suppose my hand is forced. Half eight. Meet me at the manor; we'll sort it out from there."

Grinning, Harry nodded. He was so happy about this turn of events, he didn't even mind going to that wretched old house. "I'll see you then," he said, gazing at Draco's knowing expression a moment more before he slipped out of the office for the final time.

It was strange how things had shifted in Harry's mind now. Homosexual, bisexual, they were just words, labels to explain preferences and had little to do with finding someone to connect with. There was something about Draco that excited him as well as made him feel understood. Maybe that was optimistic given Draco's early assessments of his life, but at least Draco was trying to understand him. It was more than most ever did. Now Harry looked forward to trying to comprehend Draco, and given the affectionate gleam in Draco's eyes as he left, he knew he'd get the chance.  



End file.
